When You're Sober
by souldreamer72
Summary: Why couldn’t, for once, he be sober? Alicia snapped angrily in her head as she put away food in the fridge. She was losing patience with him, and normally she had a lot of patience, especially with him, so this was saying a lot. R&R please.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or settings or whatever, it still all belongs to JK Rowling.

The turning of dusk into pure night was on the verge; a waxing sliver of the moon was the only natural light bathing the streets of Diagon Alley. Shops had closed; a rare light from the flats above would glow dimly behind curtains, all streetlamps had extinguished. Quiet serenity suspended in the black sky, not a single star shone. The cobblestone roads were free of any living creature, and the wind seemed not to wake. There wasn't a single sound; this wizarding street was holding its breath.

_Crack! _The bang like a gunshot shattered the peace; apparation. The figure of a woman stepped out from the shadows of a corner, the point of a wand disappearing into her pocket, and a bag secured under her arm; she hurried quickly to the shop branded with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. On the door a sign reading 'closed until further notice' still hung as it had for several months. She shook her head sadly, but withdrew a key from the folds in her cloak, and unlocked the door. She slipped through and quickly bolted it again.

The woman glided through the store, running her fingers over the boxes of unpacked pranks and left-to-collect-dust jokes; the counter and register hadn't been touched ever since the shop had closed. But she passed by these as hastily as she could, she didn't like being around all the liveliness that used to be her lover. She went up the steps, the flat's door was opened a fracture.

"Hey George, its Alicia." She didn't bother knocking, he wouldn't care and she had been coming every week ever since the war, ever since he had closed the shop, ever since he had been murdered.

The stench of wizarding and muggle alcohol merged with the reek of lit cigarettes. Two or three lights had burnt out from the electricity bill not being paid. Empty boxes of take out food trashed in the kitchen sinks and on the tiles; bottles of fire whisky, brandy, gin, and every other drink littered the floor surrounding the couch. A puff of smoke exhaled from the body slumped over the sofa. "Hey Alicia," the boy slurred, peeking over the cushions before falling back down, "smoke?"

Alicia let a sigh. She hated it when he was like this; drunk. But nevertheless she went to the couch and settled herself on the arm rest where his head rested against. Alicia looked down at the lanky boy dressed in the same clothes he had worn last week. His pale face was even worst looking, gaunt even; a cigarette loosely in his lips. The usually bright cerulean of his eyes were bloodshot and lazy; not even the trace of mischief lingered in his gaze. And the mop of ginger, red and orange streaked hair had grown wildly, unkempt and disheveled, obviously not washed. Alicia couldn't help but sigh again.

"No thanks George," she tried to look away as he shrugged without care, took the cigar from his lips and blew smoke inches from her face. "Anyways, here, I brought you your food for the week."

"What 'bout whisky?" He replaced the smoke with a swig of some drink that dangled in his other hand.

"You know I'm not going to get you that George." Alicia reminded him, her voice patiently strained. He didn't respond, just kept drinking himself drunk. "Well, I'm going put this stuff away." She notified him, as always when he got quiet on her.

_Why couldn't, for once, he be sober?_ Alicia snapped angrily in her head as she put away food in the fridge. She was losing patience with him, and normally she had a lot of patience, especially with him, so this was saying a lot. But he had been pushing it ever since a month ago; when he had started drinking even more. He had found muggle alcohol to be just as filling as wizard and he had stocked up on it. It seemed every time she came, he was getting worst, more drinking, more smoking, and less sober; Alicia absolutely hated it. He wasn't the same person she loved; he hadn't been that since the war.

That war. That stupid war. It was all because of that war that George was like this. If they hadn't been fighting those death eaters, if Fred hadn't stepped in the way… If Fred hadn't stepped in the way of that curse, and if it wasn't that unforgivable killing curse, he would still be here, running the joke shop with George, laughing and pranking, and everything would be fine.

But would it? The war had been won, but for what cost. There had been so many losses for their side, nothing would ever be fine. Maybe, even if Fred had gotten through, things wouldn't be the same, and George might still be getting drunk.

Alicia was confused, she was beyond confused, and she was stressed, stressed with this after war hell, keeping a living, taking care of George, everything. "Urgh!" She broke out, frustrated.

"Is something wrong love?" George called from the couch.

Alicia perked up; he actually sounded sincere, and he had called her love. She tried to shake the thought of hope that he was truly sober now. But he had never called her love since he was… Alicia shook her head vigorously. "Nothing's wrong," she lied, putting away the last of her groceries.

"Well, alright then, come here will you?"

"Sure thing," she closed the fridge and went back to him. "George what do you--?"

But she couldn't finish her sentence, his lips crashed on hers. George hauled her over the side, and pulled her onto him, hungrily kissing her. Alicia didn't know what to do, the kiss wasn't at all gentle or passionate, but he was kissing her nonetheless; and she loved it when he kissed her, sweet or rough. Nervously she pressed her lips against his with docile force. He took this as permission, his tongue jetted through her still shocked lips, roaming freely; the taste of strong alcohol and smoke tainted her mouth, like acid dripping down her throat. She choked at the putrid tang and tried to pull away; George did nothing but lock his arms firmer around her waist. Alicia was losing breath, she pulled away for air; he took this the wrong way as well, he attacked at her neck with harsh nips. Alicia stiffened under his violent force and tried helplessly to jerk away. A low rumble of chuckling rang in George's throat, his hands released from their iron clad grasp; they roved up and down her body, lusting.

That was the last straw, Alicia cracked. She wrenched away and slapped him, hard. "Oi! What was that for?" He yelled, holding his cheek.

"What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?!" She roared back; she had scrambled to her feet, and he had drunkenly sat up.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just because you call me by that pet name you gave me doesn't give you the right to do whatever you want to with me!" Alicia raged, fury seethed in her every nerve and feature. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, continuing the rant she had long wanted to scream. "Don't even try to say you weren't trying that, I know you George, I _know _you. And I cared for you. But ever since that war, and ever since Fred died, you've been nothing but a lazy, drunk, git! Every time I come here, you're always smoking and you're always drinking, and I can't take it anymore! I do everything for you, I get you food, I give you company, and what do I get? Nothing because you're too busy drinking yourself to sleep and smoking yourself to death. I don't know what to do with you! I want to hex the living daylights out of you, but I can't because deep down I know I feel sorry for you, and I know that I love you!"

Alicia glowered wrathfully at him, her breath heaving; and he just sat there, stun etched on his face. "Alicia--"

"No, I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore, I'm not going to put up with you anymore."

"Alicia--" he tried again, his voice louder.

"No, don't talk to me." Her voice was flint, stone, and cold. "You disappoint me George Weasley, I know the war was horrible, but you can't just dwell in the past and try replacing your sadness with alcohol and cigarettes. You haven't opened your store for, what, five months about, and you haven't let your family try to comfort you in those five months either; you're losing your family, your friends, and everyone who stepped into this shop and wanted to buy a prank. What's wrong with you George? You love your jokes, pranking is in your blood, and I'm sorry to say, but you're being selfish by just laying around on your lazy ass doing nothing."

"A--"

Alicia held up her hand and silenced him. "When you're sober." Alicia met his dazed eyes with a dark stare of her own. "Then you can call, then we can talk."

And she left. Alicia's thoughts swirled uneasily. Had she been too hard? Should she have snapped at him like that? Would he change? Had he even listened to anything she said? She couldn't answer any of these questions, or any of the others that would pop into her mind. All she could do was wait for a call.

But there was no ring of the phone the next day.

Or the next day.

Or the next.

Alicia slammed the door of her flat and threw her cloak onto a peg. It was exactly a month, it was the day she usually brought over his food and put up with his drunkenness. And he still hadn't called. Alicia couldn't help but feel a bit worried, and troubled; she still had all of her questions, unanswered. Routinely she went to the phone; even though every day it had been a big, blaring zero, she always checked.

Alicia's breath caught; the answering machine was blinking a red one. She pressed the button and listened to her missed message, her breath still frozen.

"Hey Alicia, its George. Weasley. Uh…well, I just had to call you because, well, because of what you said, last month. Uh, well, um, I thought about what you said, and I decided…you're right. I talked to my family, my dad got me into this alcohols anonymous, AA, meeting thing, that I've been going to, it's a muggle thing, but it's actually helping. A lot. Uh, I haven't touched a drink since you yelled at me, Perce came over and helped me clean up my flat; he even offered to help me reopen the joke shop. With all the support, I've got it opened again, the kids seem glad. So, yeah, that's pretty much it. You told me I could call when I was sober, and I am. Please call me back love, I miss you, and I need you, so, please. I'm sober, I promise." And the phone let the long beep play, saying the message was over.

Alicia couldn't help but smile; a genuine smile that she hadn't been able to show since the war. She picked up the phone and punched in the number.

It rang only twice before being picked up. "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, George here." A somewhat cherry voice greeted.

"Hello George, its Alicia."


End file.
